I Was Made For Lovin' You

Why are the trials and tribulations of marriage not explained before you enter into this sacred, eternal union? Marriage is a secret society, where only after you say "I Do" forever, that you discover it is not all about romance and bliss.



But instead is about give and take and sacrifice.



I think our friend's are afraid, and accurately so, that if we knew just how difficult marriage really was...we would run like hell in the other direction.



Now don't get me wrong, I love my husband and I love being married.



I firmly believe God designs someone special for each of us, that we were "made for lovin'", because anyone else would kill them. In fact, we just celebrated our 9th anniversary; or tour, as I like to call it. And by tour I'm not referring to the rock concert kind, but in fact, the war kind.



And this battle is animalistic in nature. Survival of the fittest!



Now, I don't know if the hippos are fighting or kissing here, but marriage is basically the same. Your fights usually start over something ridiculous, and before it's all over with, you have no idea what you were fighting about in the first place.



Hopefully one, or both of you, are big enough to call truce, kiss, and make up.



At our house, things are a little more competitive. It's a competition of wills to see who can hold out the longest. Because if you win, then obviously you are not the weaker sex.



When I say it like that, it sounds so immature. And rightly so.

P.S. In marriage, there is no one winner or loser. You either both win or you both lose. As corny as it sounds, you are officially a team. And a team that plays together...say it with me..."stays together". ...or something like that.

Fortunately for us, we like to take turns making an ass of ourselves.



You know, share the wealth. And we love each other enough to get over ourselves, laugh about it, kiss, and make up.



What is the point to all this you ask? I guess to tell you to be kind to your spouse, laugh...a lot, and never hesitate to say I'm sorry. In the long run, it doesn't really matter who's right, or who's wrong. What matters is that you finish the race.

Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?

So, the intention of my post today was to talk about how football and fall weather are bad for my figure. The cold weather makes you want to eat such hearty things, like chili:



which is great for hot dogs;



which goes great with grilling;



which goes hand in hand with football.



And football involves beer, which I love. But as we all know, beer does nothing for our girlish figures.



Why does everything that's good add 10 lbs. to our waist, our thighs, and our ass? This is something I will never understand.

Instead we have to squat,


lunge,


and crunch


into oblivion and still my abs will never look like that.

My Aunt Sean, who is more like my sister than my aunt because there are only 4 years between us, thinks I should petition Jillian and Bob from Biggest Loser to do a show for the common man.



Bobby...Jill...make a show for those folks who only have 20 or 30 lbs. to lose, have a family, a career, and can't take 3 months off work to devote to exercising.

We could call it Bust Your Buns...Bust or Buns...Bust for Buns! Ya, that's the ticket! Bust for Buns! I think there's a double entendre there somewhere.

Anyway, I'm not sure if my post met its original intention or not; in my head, I got off on another tangent involving my love for OSU and Zac Robinson, and somewhere it was lost. And in my tangent-like search for pictures to post on my blog, I came across this one:



Wow. Wow-ee, Wow, Wow.

How 'bout the Cowboys!

I Left My Heart in San Francisco

I apologize for the delay in posting, however, I have a good excuse. I just returned from my first west coast experience and my second half marathon. Ten of us gals ran in the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco. It was amazing!



It also didn't hurt that hot fireman, dressed in tuxedos, were passing out Tiffany necklaces, on silver platters, at the finish line. Yes, you heard right. Hot fireman and a Tiffany's necklace! Ladies, it doesn't get any better than that.



As for the rest of our trip, the weather and the company couldn't have been better; and the food was to die for!! We had vietnamese food at the Slanted Door, pasta at Pazzai's, clam chowder and beer at Boudin Sourdough, fresh crab at Fisherman's wharf, and sushi and sake at Ozumo's.

Speaking of Ozumo's, there was this ridiculously attractive man sitting just a few tables away. He was tall(gosh, was he tall), dark hair faux hawk, and unshavenly handsome(very Eric Dane-ish). That's funny...Dane-ish.

Anyway, he was fine! Fine as wine.



This man did have a shirt on however. What a shame...

I am positive he saw us all staring. And after a few sake, I'm pretty sure we were all shamelessly trying to flirt from afar. I forgot to mention, he was at the table with another guy and two girls. I guess some might refer to it as a double date, but whatever.

Vanessa and I assessed it must've been a first or second date, but then Robyn, a.k.a. buzz kill, was quick to point out that no girl would wear her hair in a french braid on a first date. Touché, Robyn, touché.

Toward the end of our evening, Tall, Dark, and Handsome made his way to the bathroom. Vanessa volunteered to stall him as he came out, but I have no idea what we were going to do with him once we had him. Hmmm. It probably worked out for the best that she panicked and he made it back to his table unscathed.

From Ozumo's we headed to the Beauty Bar. It's a hole in the wall bar, where on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights from 6-11 you can also get a manicure. Brilliant! Unfortunately, we weren't able to experience the mani's as it was Monday night, but the DJ was rockin' the Beatie Boys, and we all shook some tail feather.

"Body movin', body movin', with the A-1 sound sound so soothin'."

Overall, we had a fabulous time. I would do it all again. And if you're looking for eye candy, San Fran is the place!

And for you married gals(myself included), my dad and good ol' Uncle Dale always say, "It's alright to look at the menu, as long as you go home for dinner."

Bon appétit!

Beans, Beans, the Musical Fruit

God give me strength!! I can hear my grandmother in my head and picture her standing, arms outstretched, looking up toward heaven. She did this when us kids drove her to the point of insanity. I'm glad she had him on her side, otherwise, I don't think she would have made it.

Your probably thinking, why is that the image you conjur up when thinking of your grandmother? It's not. The image of her is angelic, wise, peaceful, and loving; however, anytime one of my children does something that makes me count backward from 10, this is the image I see. You can thank my youngest son, who will be 2 on Sunday, for today's antics.

Griffin's school, as do all schools, has a sensory table for the toddlers. My son decided (I don't know if decided is the correct word I'm looking for here, because I'm not sure how much deduction a 2 year old possesses) it would be fun to shove a bean up his nose. Yes, all the way.



Fortunately for Griffin's teacher, either I've already lost my mind, or God's blessed me with extreme calm because I have two sons. You see, I don't tend to excite in these types of situations. And these situations always arise when either a) my doctor's office is closed, or b) when my loving husband is unavailable, or c) all of the above. Today was a good day. It was c.

I know you're yelling at the screen, "So what happened?!?! What did you do?!?!" Calm down. I did what any smart mom would do. I called my Aunt Ruthie. She is the one person I knew could have gone through this before. And I was correct in doing so. It appears my cousin, Blake, also played bury the bean when he was Griffin's age. *Moms with young children, make a mental note right now incase this happens to you.* The doctor told Aunt Ruthie the bean is too large to travel all the way up the nasal cavity. This is good news. Then he extracted the bean with a pair of tweezers.



As I stated earlier, my pediatrician's office is closed on Wednesdays, and my darling husband is out of pocket. What does this mean, you ask?! It means we wait.

And as luck would have it, we didn't have to wait long. Ms. Sharon just called to share the good news. Said bean has been extracted!

Today's lesson: People please hug, and/or thank, your child care provider when you pick up your kids today. They didn't choose this profession for the fortune or fame. They chose it because they love your children. And for that we should eternally be grateful.

Hells Bells!

Rainy weather sucks! It has been raining, I believe, for a solid week. The sky is gray, my mood is foul, and the radio in my head keeps blaring AC/DC. "I'm a rollin' thunder, a pourin' rain! I'm comin' on like a hurricane! My lightnings flashing across the sky! You're only young but you're gonna die!"

Help!! I need a good dose of sunshine. My disposition is fading fast.

Luckily, I have my friend Reagan to crack me up. You know the one. You're friend, who no matter how bad your mood, can make you laugh until you pee your pants. Then you totally forget why you were pissy in the first place. That's her. She is loud, boisterous, and full of life. And her looks reflect her personality. Tons of hair and freckles, with a smile from here to Sunday. One of the qualities I admire most, about Reagan, is her spirituality. I love when she tells me about her conversations with God and how tight they are. Yep, she keeps it real.

Awhile back, we were discussing our favorite leading men. She hearts Bradley Cooper. But then again, who doesn't? He's got amazing eyes! And every man out there wishes they had hair like his. Oh, to run your fingers through it. (Insert loud purring) This one's for you, Rea!



I heart Hugh Jackman. I have a weakness for wickedly handsome Australian men. And he definitely fits the bill. Mmmmmmm. He also madly loves his wife, which makes him all the more attractive. His smile makes me melt.



I'm sorry, what were we talking about?

Oh well, it really doesn't matter, does it? I hope our little chat improved your mood, as much as it did mine. Happy Friday!

Matchmaker

I was raised a HUGE Oklahoma State fan. My dad, my aunt, my uncle, and 2 cousins all graduated from, or currently attend, OSU. I also attended. Yes, I said attended. I actually graduated from UCO several years later(also a great university). The conversation with my dad went something like this, "I am not going to pay for you to drink beer."

But we are not talking about me today. Today our story involves my love for OSU, Zac Robinson, and my cousin, Robyn. Robyn is currently attending Oklahoma State. She is a former army brat, and strong, spiritual, independent, beautiful girl. She is also the same age as Mr. Robinson. I'm sure you can tell where I'm going with this. Now, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Zac, please take a gander at this heart throb below.



Isn't he lovely? ...and so intense! I wish I had a better photo, but him pretty! I know, I know, but he is! He has the most amazing eyes! Tall, dark, and handsome. I would sop him up with a biscuit! Mmmm!

Anyway, so I told Rob she needed to get some classes with Zac, or I don't know, "accidentally" bump into him. Girl, if I could, I would follow that man all over campus. Shoo-oot.

The thing I forgot to mention about Rob, she's shy. So, I've decided to to use my blog (hopefully people will find it) to spread the word. If you know Zac, or Zac if you're reading this, I have the girl for you.

Love is a Battlefield

Is there anyone else out there who feel like parenting is a highly competitive, full body contact sport? I would compare it to MMA or boxing, especially if you have boys. Every day is a battle over who has control. I spent 30 minutes repeatedly putting my 2 year old in time out, because he would not apologize to his brother for hitting him in the face. He was crying, but yet, oh so obstinate that he would not say sorry. It was a battle of the wills you see, but there was one thing this child did not know or understand...I don't lose. (Man, I just sounded like my dad right there).

So, I say to my 2 year old, "You've got to ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya punk?"

My husband says he won't give in. To which I respond, I've got all night.

It started like this...




And in the end, it was I, who was victorious! He apologized and gave his brother a hug. It was beautiful!

I tried very hard, not to be so, "Ya, in your face!"




But c'mon! ...it's so hard to be humble.

P.S. I wish I had Misty May's body. I mean, check out those abs! And those thighs, "Solid. ...solid as a rock!" But that is neither here nor there.

Seriously though, it's these small lessons learned that make your kids "bigger" people in the long run. You've just got to be strong enough to come out on top.